This morning garbage trucks were circling the flies, who were circling each other. The pond flows in around and out of itself; the molecules it takes as its own are minerals of primordial rain: Hot! Orpheus is the model that forged the mold and the voice that sang itself and gave life to itself, in the words, in its rhythms and in its beats, his voice stops a mind, in its tracks: footprints where missiles fly, walk in around out of themselves.